In preparation for my next New York visit I was checking out the locations of some of Invader’s last invasion, an invasion I’d again missed by a few weeks last October. Tabernac! Really must try and co-ordinate that better in the future.

Turns out that my favourite street artist has put a piece on my old building at Kingsland and Nassau in Greenpoint. Exciting! It sits nicely above a Sweet Toof piece I’d seen last time I was there. As if I don’t miss that apartment enough with its epic views of Manhattan. Can’t wait to get back there and see that as well as some of the 40 or so other pieces.

Now I can only hope that Monsieur l’Invader decides to hit up Walthamstow so my current home can be just as well adorned. There’s been a few pieces of street art and murals turning up nearby in the last few months so can but hope.

Somehow I managed to score front row, dead centre seats for the current London run of Eddie Izzard – Force Majeure Reloaded. I think the last time I saw Eddie was a way back, for the Stripped tour – which was sitting further back, but randly behind the, then still together Lenny Henry and Dawn French.

This time there were no other British comedian legends, or indeed anything else, between me and the British comedy legend that is Eddie Izzard. This was the perfect view from which to enjoy Eddie’s sublime facial and body antics as he capered about the stage acting out various mammals, Darth Vader / God and various people all of whom seem to be called ‘Steve’ (or Mr Stevens).

As to the show itself, it didn’t rank as highly to my mind as Dress to Kill or other earlier performances. There’s a tiredness to some of the associations, and whereas earlier when Eddie might crack up at his own joke (or write on his hand that a joke didn’t work) the flow kept going, this time it seemed to create breaks where the whole audience went quiet – eerily so. These lulls were outshone by the times he hit his stride, perhaps mostly so in the re-visiting of the Darth Vader canteen sketch for which he’s now so famous, but this time we end up with a God vs Vader battle which had the whole audience in stitches. So, overall, well worth going down to check it out if you’re in town.

And for the record this time I didn’t get drunk and end up in chatting to him in his dressing room. For which I’m sure he’s very glad 😉

The other week I was lucky enough to get tickets to see Beck in his Station to Station gig at the Barbican. And by lucky, I mean front row, center. Near enough to reach out and touch his fine cowboy boots. Not that I did, tempting though it was.

An over-arching cowboy and train theme was present from the very start, where Beck and three actors dressed as cowboys crouched round a faux fire – with the London Chamber Orchestra sitting in the background. The backdrop visuals, provided by Station to Station mastermind Doug Aitken, evoked the dry mid-west of America and the trains that slowly cross its wide expanse. Beck then stood to deliver the first of his solo songs to a rapt crowd, an older number on acoustic guitar.

From this gentle beginning we were given many more beautiful moments to enjoy. From poets reading their pieces on the subject of travel, in many styles – from sedate to near rap. To ethereal chamber music as the cowboys pointed slowly out across the audience. Followed by Thurston Moore, ex Sonic Youth, melting the stage and our ears with classic guitar feedback. Across all of this were scattered more Beck songs, ending with the ethereal Wave.

The show may have been pretty short, just over an hour and a quarter, and it certainly couldn’t be classed as a gig – more of a happening – yet most everyone in the audience left with smiles on their faces and the glow of seeing something different and special. This was one of those moments that make you glad to be in London, a city of many delights that are never easily attained but well worth the effort. Yee haw!

Last Friday was the mystical combination of Valentines Day and a full moon, so as a suave and sophisticated international playboy, my night was to be filled with exciting adventures, heart stopping romance and other acts too lewd to mention in public. By which I mean staying in, watching movies and getting organised for my friend Sheila’s wedding to the lovely Matt, now Mr Woodbridge (congratulations both!!). Yes, I rock that hard.

Then everything changed. The artist formally known as Prince, now formally know as symbol was in town, performing last minute gigs to lucky souls. Through the wonders of Twitter and social media ‘#PrinceWatch’ was on constant refresh on my phone, and then came the fateful message – “Prince is playing. Now. At Kings Place near Kings Cross”. WTW!

Romantic night in plans scuppered I grabbed everything I could and shot out the door. I ran swiftly through the streets of Walthamstow, texting friends as I went, testing my knee fitness down the epic stairs of Blackhorse Road tube (when will they fix that escalator?) and straight onto a tube. Kings Cross was but a few short stops away. The signs were in place. I would make this gig, oh yes!

As I caught my breath the tube wound its way under the streets of London. My mind raced. How many people in this carriage were on the way to see the small purple music god in all his glory? With every minute I knew the exponential laws of digital communications and London transport would be extending that queue. Another 10, 100, 1000 people – what was the rate of growth? The train paused, waiting outside of Seven Sisters. “Please move train, please! Prince awaits!” I quietly willed the train to go, the lights to change and eventually they did, more precious minutes lost.

Then the tube pulled into Kings Cross, laces freshly tightened on my red tiger trainers I raced along the platform and up the stairs. Past friendly police helping some lucky chap put his hands behind his back to gently cuff. Past drunken groups of friends laughing too loudly with each other on their night out without a date, each hoping without hoping that tonight some other desperate soul would change their lives and create a story for their wedding – yes, we met on Valentines, how funny is that? My mind was focussed, no thoughts of soul mates intruded on my calculations of the fastest route out of the warren of Kings Cross to my destination.

The rain was starting to lash down as I raced up York Way. As I passed some people they realised we were heading to the same place and started running too, shared madness making us laugh and smile at each other even in our very competition. Then I was there, to the sight of a line already snaking from the venue and up the stairs onto the road. It had only been 40 minutes since the announcement. My friend Sanj had been nearer than me and was 50 people further down the line – queue etiquette kicked in and I resisted the strong urge to play the “my mate’s holding my place” card. We were both there, now all we could do was wait.

As new friends were made in the line, someone from the venue came past with a clicker. The prognosis was not good.. We were past the cut-off for this 300/350 seat venue and, no, there was only one show tonight. This couldn’t be, we reasoned. Surely we’d all invested so much the fates would be on our side? The line kept growing along with our nervousness. The wind and rain howling around us to represent our inner turmoil hidden behind smiling faces.

The line started to move, soon we would know the truth. A slow edging and the slight shelter of the building kept us more out of the wind. Small mercies. The thoughts of toilet breaks and warming beers crossed our minds, but no-one would dare to leave the line. Closer and closer we got to the door. Then, disaster, the line stopped moving. Murmurs and questions started to rise up from everyone. We were so close, only 15 metres from the door. The line was now so long that it still stretched far beyond where I’d first joined up an hour or so before.

Official news came down the line – the show was on and was full, I was just that bit too late. Oh damn that short delay in the tube! Damn not living in the Guardian offices! Then, more news – a second show would be put on! We’d gone from being at the back of the venue to now being almost first in. Oh happy day, callooh callay. Smiles erupted on us all, with sad thoughts for those people still waiting out in the new torrential rain back where we’d started as no third show was on offer.

Shortly we were inside the venue, tickets bought, warming whiskey in hand courtesy of Sanj. We could hear the first show in progress, doors sometimes opening to give us a brief blast of Prince sound, cheering and warmth. Then the first show was over, people streamed out faces glowing and red, smiles from ear to ear. It would soon be our turn, not long now.. Then the security guards told us we would go in, “slowly please!”, the crowd didn’t want to hear that – a surge began – security got anxious. Somehow I ended up near the front and got let through to the doors early, racing along to the door I was in. The venue so small, I got to the middle of the second row and grabbed seats for Sanj and myself. Prince’s symbol attached to the mike was but a few metres away, could this be any better?

Waiting for everyone else you could see the smiles on everyone’s face. We all knew how special this was. The security guards also knew, but didn’t want us taking photos – a harder task to prevent these days with every phone a camera. The anticipation was rising and then, the three women who formed 3rd Eye Girl – Prince’s current band – came out. Elegant and tall, they welcomed us and asked that we didn’t take photos – while telling us of the next few gigs; Koko tonight, Ronnie Scotts on Monday – then a few in Manchester and Brixton Academy soon. After all the sneaks of information this was a welcome flood. Then they left the stage and the lights dimmed..

Suddenly he was there, Prince, the man we’d come to see, striding confidently onto the stage with an afro and back hair jacket, shoes with perspex souls that flashed with red lights. We all stood, seats abandoned and didn’t sit for the rest of the show. He moved gracefully to sit on a chair at the front of the stage and smiled warmly at us all. The crowd erupted in cheers, everyone grinning wildly. Then he launched into an acoustic version of Raspberry Beret and all was good with the world as we sang along.

The show was only an hour or so long, but what an hour. Hits mixed with cover songs flowed effortlessly from one to the next. Acoustic became electric, classic songs became jams, hits became singlaongs. His band were tight and talented and though obviously deferring to his lead they held their own and jammed fluidly with him across many riffs. I’d forgotten just how good of a guitarist Prince is, his face bright with the obvious pleasure of playing as his fingers flew over the frets. Later his bass and keyboard playing would also astound, as would his dance moves. And that voice, oh that voice.

I’d only seen Prince play once before, sitting high in the nose bleeds at Madison Square Garden in 2004. He’d held us all in thrall at that large space so to see him in a 300 seat venue was beyond sublime and to be within two metres of him, well. I suspect at some point he made direct eye contact with almost every single one of us, but what struck me was that it wasn’t about a sexual pose I might have expected from earlier songs, but a feeling of warmth and intimacy and true pleasure in being with close with his audience. This was a valentines day for us all, and he was glad to share it.I can’t remember every song, the full setlist is here, but I do remember it ended with Purple Rain – smoke flowing out across the stage as Prince sat behind the keyboard encouraging us to try and reach the high notes. And though we clapped and cheered and hoped, through the return of the band to bow and smile one last time, the gig was over and it couldn’t have ended any other way. The moment though, will last forever.

So huge thanks to the crowds of people on Twitter who post to #PrinceWatch to share the love, if you get the chance to go and see him yourself on this tour then do it – you won’t regret the time spent lining up and you may make some good friends in the process. But most of all thanks to Prince for still playing smaller venues like this, and showing us a world through your purple tinted glasses.

As 2013 winds to a close I’m in the midst of a major movie binge on Netflix before heading out for a night of fun ‘n frolics. Right now Fast Times at Ridgemont High is on, still a classic movie if just for all the famous faces as they started out their careers. Then, as of midnight tonight, that’s it – subscription over. I’m going cold turkey on streamed movies. Yep, a new year’s resolution of sorts, who’d have thought.

The combination of an Apple TV and Netflix subscription has been a double edged sword this last year. I first signed up to get access to the new series of Arrested Development – the siren call of more Bluth family antics being too much to ignore – and though it wasn’t as funny as the original three series, it was well worth a watch. Since then the easy access for a few clicks to TV series and movies has been a complete time-suck, though an enjoyable one. I do like my films.

Through the complete series of Breaking, with the final episodes available just after they were on in the US, was a classic roller coaster of a show. To everyone I know who has not yet watched it please do, otherwise I’m bound to accidentally spoiler it for you at some point. Dexter, a replacement series once BB was over, was great for the first few series but the finale did not live up to the rest of it. Then there have been numerous random movies from Hollywood blockbusters to classic international movies, from Disney movies that I’d never seen (Lady and the Tramp – seriously, never watched) to old favourites since my DVD collection is in storage as I get ready to move. That’s a lot of time and bandwidth. Perhaps somewhere out there is a site that works out how much time that amounts to, not sure I want to find it though and somehow I doubt Netflix wants to make that figure too easy to see. Someone else had a go at working out the costs and it’s mildly depressing reading.

So, Netflix. Thanks for all the good times and have a great 2014 without me.. Now where did I put those cookery books and knitting needles?

It’s been a hot few days and nights here in London – weather all too familiar from New York, but not comfortable here in a city that doesn’t really get icey cold air conditioning. A small fan just ain’t cuttin’ it, though the pleasure of a pillow fresh out of the freezer is truly outstanding.

An almost eerily empty cineplex seemed very fitting for this sci-fi apocalypse tinged film, though from the very outset the plot felt somewhat less relaxed than Pegg & co’s previous outings. An overly long flashback sets up the premise – Gary King, once the coolest kid in school and now a messed up ex-drug addict, believes his only happiness (and perhaps salvation) rests in successfully repeating a pub crawl that failed 20 odd years before. This pub crawl, taking in the ‘Golden Mile’ of twelves pubs culminating in The World’s End of title fame. To achieve this he gathers his original friends, now all very settled down, and off they go.

Of course, this being from the brains that invented the zom-rom-com nothing is quite as it seems. Very quickly the plot transmutes from the simple plays of mid-life reminiscence into a sci-fi romp. Though original in its own concept, the film plays homage to many films (even somehow Lord of the Rings), and part of the fun is recognising the source. Unfortunately these nods seem more like the highlight of this outing rather than an added bonus, as the whole affair felt like a sequence of sketches and visual ideas strung together on a tenuous premise rather than a coherent whole.

The World’s End is certainly an enjoyable film, but nowhere near the heights of its stable mates. Perhaps it will turn out to be a grower, fingers crossed! On the plus side – two hours of being in a comfy, air conditioned seat was well worth the £15.

Early new years ‘resolution’ time.. I plan to be more rigorous, perhaps annoyingly so, in writing about all the minutiae of what I’m up to. One part of that will be writing brief reviews of everything I watch.

So, first on the block – Howl, another movie I picked up on a random night in Fopp. Howl presents a biopic of beat poet Allen Ginsberg, played wonderfully by James Franco, covering his early life, and the attempt to prevent publication of his book ‘Howl and Other Poems’ on the grounds of obscenity.

The style of the movie jumps around a lot, moving from scenes of Ginsberg giving an interview, or in his early life, then to the court room, where Ginsberg’s book is defended by Jon Hamm looking dashing as always, interspersed with a strange art school style of animation describing the story of Howl itself. All of this is mildly disorientating and I found myself not really getting a sense of any of the characters as a narrative, though Ginsberg comes across well. Perhaps this is in keeping with the chopped up beat poet style – but then we only see a few dashes of that along the way.

Overall worth seeing if you’re fans of Franco or Ginsberg. Or need to have everything Jon Hamm is in of course.

Ah, Pixar. For so many years you could do no wrong.. Then Cars
came out, and we worried that you could be influenced by Disney into having a movie that seemed more about merchandising than anything else. So when the merger happened between Pixar/Disney I had a moment of worry that, although everyone was excited that Pixar would improve Disney, a ‘Disney-fication’ of Pixar might also happen..

So here we have Brave
, the story of a headstrong, young Scottish princess who rebels against her parents desires to marry her to one of the Princes of the highlands to maintain the shaky peace. Magic is invoked, consequences unintended happen, and the story unfolds with beautiful Pixar animated style and a range of Scots accents. By strange coincidence, I watched Aladdin the other day – a perennial favourite for Robin Williams’ wonderful turn as the genie (and some toe tapping tunes). The story of a Princess not wanting to be married off without love is there in both, though turning it round to have the Princess as the center of the story is a nice change, and Merida – the Scottish Princess – is believable as the rebellious, self-sustaining type. There are also other twists, but that would spoil the plot.

The story is not the real hero of this Pixar tale though. The richness of the story seems lacking, with some obvious steps taken and a distinct lack of the layers that keep taking you back to other Pixar movies. This time the magic is in the visuals, from Merida’s stunning auburn locks that almost have a life of their own, to the light changes playing across dramatic Scottish landscapes. The one exception is a common gripe from any 3D movie.. the rotating draw back shots from key locations. Ug. Filmmakers – these do not work out of 3D – the majority of your watchers – and immediately scream ‘movie made for 3D’. Story first, 3D spinning shots second thank you very much. Similarly there are some good characters, but they seem to lack the overall charm (and wit) of other Pixar creations – outside of the main players, who are all enjoyable and engaging and in the case of Merida’s three brothers, welcome comic relief (and cute as three identical buttons).

In summary: A beautiful and enjoyable movie, but not one of Pixar’s best. Och aye.

Just got back from two amazing weeks in Bali – amazing weather, great food, lovely people and a whole pile of fun. In summary – the best holiday I’ve had in about ten years. Consequently feel a whole lot more relaxed, look a whole lot more tanned and am generally annoying people who have had to deal with two weeks of very cold British weather.

So what did I do? Landed into the airport and spent a few days at Legian beach, slightly less hectic than the Aussie-ful Kuta , where I slept a lot to recover from our recent app release busy-ness, surfed, swam and had more massages than I care to mention. All fully family appropriate, don’t worry 😉

Next took a car across the mountains to Lovina, where I wandered the black sand beaches and had my first proper dive in a year – and the best dive I’ve had in five – at Pulau Menjangan. This was good news, as it meant my ears were behaving so I could get on with some serious diving. The next day saw the dolphins at dawn, hundreds of them, before driving over to Tulamben to dive the amazing off-beach wreck there. Stunning.

No rest for the wicked, Ubud was my next stop – a beach-free central town dedicated to monkeys and the more relaxed, hippy arts. Ironically had my worst massage here, but everything else was amazing including the villa I stayed at with outdoor shower. Sunlit & moonlit showers are the best, at least in tropical temperatures. Plenty of culture and temples to see, and also monkeys – who are violent beasts it seems and not as cute as you might think. Hint: do not carry food on your person.

Ubud was very hard to leave, but the idyllic Gili islands off Lombok were calling, and after a few hours drive and a few hours in a boat I could see why. Blue seas, an island small enough to walk round in two hours and white sand beaches – not to mention no dogs or petrol vehicles – amazing! I ended up staying here for the rest of the trip, getting in plenty more diving, sun & just pure relaxation. The dives had everything – seahorses, turtles, sharks and an overload of cuttlefish, my favourite sea denizens. Not quite paradise, but a pretty close approximation to it and highly recommended.

So all in all an amazing trip and can’t wait to get down that way again. Meanwhile I’m still fighting the jetlag, and adjusting to a balmy 3 degrees C in the UK (a tenth of what it was there) – so that means I’m already starting to go through my photos. Something of a miracle given my current backlog. The photo above is the first to come, at some point you’ll see my picks of the 8,000 odd more I took. Coff.